


This Time

by eadunne2



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Aging, An Ending, Heaven if you want it, Last Hurrah, M/M, Or just a thought of rest..., Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they started attending more funerals than birthdays, Steve had mentioned the idea by accident one night, not in any sort of macabre way, just commenting on the weariness associated with never truly resting. They’d both startled, stared at each other for a long moment from across the battered kitchen table, then Buck had whispered, “If there was any...sleep...to be had, would you want it?”</p>
<p>And Steve had answered without pause, “Only if you come with me.”</p>
<p>And that was that. They never spoke of it again, but they’d made up their minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look, you've seen the notebook right? 
> 
> If the end of chapter 1 makes your heart hurt too bad, read chapter 2. If you're a realist, maybe just stop with 1. <3

“You sure you wanna do this?” Tony asks. His voice is rough and wet with age. “Once it’s in your bloodstream, it’s irreversible.”

“Definitely,” Steve says, and turns to his husband. “You wanna go with me, Buck?”

Bucky’s gazing at Steve, soft-eyed, and says, “Always.”

\--

“‘S beautiful,” Steve murmurs, looking out over the sun-bathed canyon. 

Buck nods, smiling. He’s quiet these days, but it’s alright. Steve knows.

It’s been fifty two years since they took the antidote. Fifty two years of time that actually aged them. Fifty two years of traveling the world and eating and laughing. Fifty two years of goodbye.

“Last one,” Buck murmurs. 

“‘S been a good run.”

“And how.”

They turn back to the path, Buck’s cane scuffing up some dirt from the path and Steve steadies him with a hand on his back. An old bullet wound in his own shoulder aches anew and he hunches into it a little. After a few centuries without, he enjoys the pain - a distinctly human experience. 

“How you feelin’?” 

Buck breathes deep with a serenity that Steve had never seen on him before the antidote. “Alive. You?”

“Grateful. Always grateful when I’m with you.”

Bucky huffs. “Fuckin’ squish.”

“We been together how long, and you still can’t accept that shit?”

He shakes his head, silvery hair almost white in the sun. “The fuck you think, punk?”

“There’s a first time for everything…”

They chuckle their way back to the car, always touching, elbows or shoulders or pinky fingers linked loose. It was always like this. Magnetic. Lifetimes ago, Bucky couldn’t help but wrap himself around a sick and skinny Steve, and Steve always used to brush Buck’s hair from his eyes as they cooked dinner, before they were ever anything but friends. They craved that heat, that grounding sense of home, before they ever knew why.

The years spent apart have faded into shadow in both of their minds, overshone by decades upon decades of joy. They quit working for S.H.I.E.L.D. and shortly after they were married they opened a group home to anyone who needed a place to stay. It ended up being wayward kids and jaded supers trying to find their purpose, and somehow, weirdly, it worked. Together, Steve and Buck attended hundreds of graduations over the years, parent-teacher conferences, dinners, and not a few weddings. Received countless calls of, “I’m going to college!”, and “I got hired!”, and “We’re pregnant!” Bucky cried at the first of those calls, but Steve’ll take that to his grave.

When they started attending more funerals than birthdays, Steve had mentioned the idea by accident one night, not in any sort of macabre way, just commenting on the weariness associated with never truly resting. They’d both startled, stared at each other for a long moment from across the battered kitchen table, then Buck had whispered, “If there was any...sleep...to be had, would you want it?”

And Steve had answered without pause, “Only if you come with me.”

And that was that. They never spoke of it again, but they’d made up their minds.

\--

_To Whom It May Concern,_

Let me offer my condolences to you and your family. As you know, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers passed away on the premises of my hotel. This letter is not standard procedure, but I find myself unable to keep these thoughts private. I don’t wish to carry them on my own.

I have seen many lives and many deaths in my day, and this, I assure you has been one of the most moving on both accounts. I had heard of these men, of course, but never believed...I thought it impossible, that humans could love through what they’ve been through. That anyone’s heart could survive centuries and wars and loss.

They saved the world, I read. A hundred times over. Can you believe it? They survived together, lived together, and apparently died together, the coroner guesses within minutes of one another. What are the chances?

What moves me most, though, was the scene when I entered. They were on the bed fully clothed, Mr. Barnes on his back, and Mr. Rogers curled on his side with his face pressed into Mr. Barnes neck. They looked happy, almost eager, as strange as that sounds. Their hands were linked. Fit for each other, in every sense.

Their bags were packed, neatly, as if preparing for travel, shoes carefully placed next to the door. Sunglasses and keys on the desk. Ready for the next adventure.

I cannot shake the image from my mind, nor the desperate and fervent desire in my heart that they get that adventure they packed for, if only just one more. Together.

Sincerely,

E. Dunne  



	2. Chapter 2

“Ah haaa!” Bucky crows as the bike roars awake.

“Fuckin’ finally!” Steve shouts. “You’d think they’d make better engines in the afterlife.”

“Then what the fuck would you do all day?” Nat retorts from where she’s lying on the picnic table. 

“You really wanna open that up to discussion?” Buck laughs with a lascivious grin in Steve’s direction, and Nat gags theatrically. 

“Never mind.” She looks beautiful, healthy, in her prime. They all do. Replacing the past memories of aging skin and bones are these new bodies, or old ones perhaps, the ones from before time got to them. They’re lighter than air here, none of the weight from before. If they wanted to sleep, they could sleep, and some of their friends and family have chosen that instead. But they chose the adventure, the “life” part of afterlife, and they’re enjoying the fuck out of whatever it brings them, not always the same, but always good. They live in a perfect replica of the house Buck and Steve had opened to the world back in Brooklyn, them and - 

“Steve! Did you weed the garden already?”

“Yeah, Ma, I told you I would!”

Sarah trots down the front steps and yanks him down for a hug, planting a wet kiss to his brow. “Thank you, honey.”

“Welcome.” He’s smiling wetly and Buck squeezes his shoulder. There’s no time on this plane of existence, and even then they’ve been here long enough that Sarah’s presence isn’t new anymore, but Steve still gets emotional about it on occasion. 

“You boys takin’ your trip?”

“Yes ma’am,” Buck says grinning, and Sarah drags him in, too, hugging the crap out of him and kissing his cheek. 

“You take care of my boy, James Barnes.”

“Or what?” he snarks. “It’s not like we can d - ow!” She slaps him in the back of the head and he turns away rubbing the spot and smiling in the opposite direction, goofy and fond. “Yes ma’am.”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” Nat adds, giving them both bear hugs as Sarah returns to the house. 

“What’ll you be up to?” Steve asks.

She shrugs. “Me, Sam, Clint, ‘n’ Tony were thinking of heading out to that beach on the edge of Tony’s heaven.”

“The one with the sweet beach houses?”

Buck adds, “And beautiful women for miles?”

She winks at them. “That’s the one.”

“Christ,” Steve mutters, but Buck whirls him around by the arm and plants one on him, long and sweet and warm, perfectly familiar and still miraculously powerful. His knees buckle a little. 

“What was that for?” Steve whispers, arms still wound tight around his husband. 

Buck shrugs. “I love ya, ya know?”

“Yeah, Buck. I know.”

“Anything woulda been nice, but this…” he gestures to their surroundings with a little dip of his head.

“Better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Steve finishes and Bucky nods. 

“Exactly. Though,” he adds, pulling away and Steve can already see the mischief in his eyes as he strides to his bike. “That’s kind of always been the case with you. Better than I could’ve imagined.”

Steve is beautifully, fantastically floored, and he let’s it show on his face. “Yeah?”

“Of course. Punk.” He revs the engine and grins. “Race you to the ocean.”

In an instant they’re both peeling down the road. There’s wind and sun and the roar of the bikes and when Steve glances over he can see that spark in Buck’s eye, the way he glows, all his kindness and love and bravery and joy shining through. Heaven sure has a way of showing people’s true selves. 

Then again, Steve’s pretty sure he looked like that three hundred years ago in their shitty apartment in Brooklyn. 

Buck winks and pulls ahead a little. Steve speeds up to match pace, but he lets Bucky beat him to the ocean. 

This time.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me at seasless.tumblr.com


End file.
